Orpheus in Japan: A Fable
by Kabuki1
Summary: SandmanYugioh Crossover: What if, during Duelist Kingdom, Pegasus explored other ways to revive his beloved Cyndia? AU Roseshipping main, with other pairings possible in the future.
1. Default Chapter

**Orpheus in ****Japan****: A Fable**

**By Kabuki**

**July 2004**

I've been working on a project off and on and this is the result thus far. Quite a peculiar little tale if you ask me, but then I'm not the best judge of such things. This is a crossover for those curious betwixt The _Sandman_ books by DC/Vertigo and Yugioh. Sandman is property of DC/Vertigo Comics and Neil Gaiman. If you don't find the idea of Pegasus taking a mythological journal appealing, then please vacate to room immediately. I won't tolerate flames concerning my choice in characters. I've always had a passion for crossovers, and this will be my second in the Yugioh fandom. Huzzah. I was inspired by many, many things in this story. It could get weird.

Oh and by the by, I've been watching the Japanese and Dubbed episodes interchangeably and have grown attached to certain names. There is no rhyme or reason to this, but as a reader of Yugioh fic I think everyone understands the name thing. Email me if you have any questions, k? For instance, Joey is Joey, but Cecelia has become Cyndia just cause the voice actor for Pegasus made a great impression on me.

(oh, and the emoticon is courtesy of Squidman … I think …)

_Prologue: Dream Within A Dream_

**_A Dream Within A Dream_**

**Edgar Allen Poe**

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**Take this kiss upon the brow!**

** And, in parting from you now,**

** Thus much let me avow-**

** You are not wrong, who deem**

** That my days have been a dream;**

** Yet if hope has flown away**

** In a night, or in a day,**

** In a vision, or in none,**

** Is it therefore the less gone?**

** All that we see or seem**

** Is but a dream within a dream.**

** I stand amid the roar**

** Of a surf-tormented shore,**

** And I hold within my hand**

** Grains of the golden sand-**

** How few! yet how they creep**

** Through my fingers to the deep,**

** While I weep- while I weep!**

** O God! can I not grasp**

** Them with a tighter clasp?**

** O God! can I not save**

** One from the pitiless wave?**

** Is all that we see or seem**

** But a dream within a dream?**

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Somewhere, a clock was still ticking steadily, measuring the minutes as his life slipped through his fingers leaving him desolate and alone in his misery. The clock was rhythmic, the ticking endlessly monotonous, determined to remind him that by all clinical standards life does indeed go on. He watched the heart monitor, the jagged line of her heartbeat growing weaker by the moment. How desperately he wanted to rush into the hallway, alert the staff, drag all those pretentious doctors he'd hired back into the room and demand that they help her! If he knew how, Pegasus would have massaged her heart alone. He would have done anything…

But no, said her parents, that could never be. Cyndia wouldn't want to be a burden, they said. She would want to be allowed to die in peace. Pay no attention to that man sitting constantly by her side as she lays in that comatose state – he's nothing to her. They'd signed the statements as easily as a check, their plastic smiles unconvincing even to the nurses. They rarely visited after that, leaving their youngest daughter alone in the sterile bed to await her death alone. There was nothing to be done, no matter how many doctors he could drag into the room. She had no living will, and he was not her husband. Their engagement bands held no weight, and now the vows would never be exchanged. He'd never imagined life could be so cruel, that fate would deal so harsh a blow for no apparent reason. Cyndia had never harmed anyone; her nature was naturally considerate and loving. No matter how hard he tried to rationalize there was no sense to be made.

He'd been holding his breath for some indefinable amount of time, his lean fingers clutching the crinkling fabric of her hospital gown as though he could through sheer force of will yank her soul from the impending void. Those eyes, once so clear and blue as to rival the sky of a perfect summer day, were open wide and seemingly overcome with some unrevealed ecstasy; yet slowly, oh so slowly, a cloud was falling over that perfect shade, the sky he'd once thought would be endlessly reflected there now growing increasingly overcast. He held her, gathering her pliant body to his breast and cradling her soft-spun golden hair. "No… oh no…"

She was already growing cold in his arms her eyes still wide and unseeing, as though in surprise at the suddenness of her own demise, when he pulled back a little to stroke her tender cheek. He gazed into her sweet face, nibbling on his lower lip absently. "Oh Cyndia, please…" He buried his head in her golden hair, breathing in deeply; but instead of her sweet scent the antiseptics of the hospital greeted his nostrils. Naught could he sniff out in that final moment of calm. He sighed, laying her back against the pillows and thumbing her eyes shut with trembling hands, the same hands that had once held her so tightly through night after night. He pulled the blankets up to her chin, a practiced motion since she'd been hospitalized. He hadn't slept in weeks, remaining by her side day and night. At first the hospital staff had barred his entry, he wasn't related to Cyndia in marriage or by blood, but he'd pleaded so dreadfully that finally he'd been allowed admittance. Their room was generally avoided by the hospital staff unless absolutely necessary – so young and so tragic, it was just too terrible for any of the young nurses on duty to handle.

Tucked in nicely, he stood by the bed and allowed his eyes to shut as a shuddering sigh escaped his lips. It was a miserable sound, but the tears didn't come as he'd expected. Instead a dreadful numbness had seeped into his chest, and in a final flare of passion he bent forward to kiss his beloved a final time. Their lips met in a familiar touch, but her life was gone, ebbed away in the fluorescent haze of the tiny hospital room. She was already cooling against his touch, and the young man broke away miserably, bowing his head.

He didn't even hear the door open as a nurse checked in on the pair, or the gasp from the young woman as she realized what had happened. She was gone in an instant, and a group of six or so crammed themselves into the tiny room checking for pulse and respiration among other things. The fair-haired man sat perfectly still, his amber eyes unseeing as the room was filled with a flurry of activity. They'd expected it, they'd known she didn't have much longer and that no amount of rescue effort could pull her from the brink. Cyndia's case had been a lost cause, and without her the surviving lover was simply lost. One or two people came to check on him a little later, but the young man ignored them. There was nothing he could see except the shell of his beloved, lovely even in death, cold as a plaster angel in some hideous tableau. He had no concept of the passage of time, but soon enough her parents arrived. They'd been out of town, they said, and did Cyndia specify how she'd like to be buried?

He stayed by her side until they covered her body and wheeled her beyond his reach.


	2. Chapter One: Mannequin Smile

Hello everyone. Yes, this chapter is a little strange but let me get going. I have 30 more pages already written and believe me this has some plan behind it. ahem Let me say thanks to Mai Valentine and Myotismon for reviewing too. Nice to see other fans of the Sandman. My favorites are Despair, Dream, Death, Lucifer, and the Lady Bast -- just so you know what to expect. ;-) Anyway, expect this story to get dark and moody/fantasy-ish. It is a Sandman crossover after all.

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_Chapter One: Mannequin Smile_

**"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or devil!****  
By that Heaven that bends above us--by that God we both adore--  
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,  
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore--  
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."  
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." **

**Edgar Allen Poe,_ The Raven_**

He opened one eye in the darkness and sighed. The insomnia was getting progressively worse as the tournament intensified. Not that he'd been getting much sleep for the past seven years, but it had only gotten worse since that first battle with Yugi Moto. Pegasus J. Crawford threw back the cranberry silk sheets and climbed out of bed, sliding his feet into a pair of Funny Bunny slippers before he shuffled across the stone floor of his sanctuary. There on the writing desk, just beside his journal, was the card. He lifted the small rectangular slip of paper, the gloss catching the moonlight for a moment before revealing an elderly man's face, hands pressed to the card as though against glass, his eyes wide and terrified. His painted expression of utter dismay.

Replacing the card in its proper place in the journal before pouring himself a glass of Merlot, Pegasus basked in the moonlight as he sipped the wine slowly, gazing calmly out across his moonlit kingdom at the ocean beyond. It was truly beautiful, lush with vegetation and an abundance of tropical animals he'd imported. It had always been one of his favorite dreams, to own a castle on an island in a tropical paradise, and if the island wasn't exactly tropical at least it was still an island. He opened the journal casually, intending to glance over the documentation of his actions in case he was defeated, but his eye narrowed in consternation when he flipped through the thick parchment. Was his eye deceiving him? Every single page in the book was blank, as though the journal had never been touched. He flipped it back and forth in his hands, the usual worn feel caressing his fingertips.

There was laughter from somewhere, and Pegasus whirled around, his amber eye narrowed while the Millennium Eye blazed beneath his abundant silver hair. In an instant he had commanded a Mind Sweep, scanning the area for any living person. To his confusion, however, there was nothing to read. He blinked as the laughter began again. This time he scanned more strongly, seeking out any cracks and crevices where a person might hide. When that failed and the laughter continued he focused his power, lashing out with the intent of destroying any electrical devices with the force of his telepathy; yet there was no result. There was nothing electric in the room.

The laughter continued, and Pegasus turned again, searching everywhere for the source of the sound. "Who's there! Show yourself!"

The sound died away, leaving nothing but the lapping of distant waves upon the shore and the frightened pounding of his heart. When a warm palm touched his bare shoulder a sudden soothing sensation enveloped his body, and before he saw the owner of the hand he already knew he was dreaming. He leaned back into the waiting embrace and turned, gazing into the sky-blue eyes he'd longed for these seven years, the disembodied giggling forgotten. "I'm dreaming, I know, but oh Cyndia I don't care!"

She laughed a little, the music of her voice catching at his heart like barbed wire. He gathered her to his chest, sighing in contentment at the sudden wave of emotion that engulfed him. "I love you, Cyndia my darling." He kissed her forehead tenderly.

She didn't respond, only nuzzled him tighter, and a sudden pang of remorse arced through Pegasus at the thought that she didn't speak because he didn't remember the precise sound of her voice. His memory was only human, and though he did all he could to keep her alive in thought there was nothing that could stop the ticking of time. She was eternally seventeen in his dreams, while he only aged further. He wondered if decades later, when he was old and on the verge of death, if he'd still envision this heartbreakingly beautiful teenager coming to him like a celestial angel.

That thought was too much to bear, and as the pain bubbled in his heart Pegasus pushed the vision away, backing away from her questioning gaze. "You're not real. You're not real, and I can't be satisfied with a mirage any longer." She stared for a moment, then moved toward him again still smiling as though he hadn't spoken. It was the surest confirmation of his fear, and Pegasus backed further from her, wishing the dream would just end now that it had gone so horribly. His resolve was only cemented further that he must defeat Yugi Moto. He still had to get his hands on the holographic technology of Kaiba Corp to resurrect Cyndia. He couldn't be satisfied with the fantasy. Too long starved for the reality, the dream was but a mockery of the happiness he'd once enjoyed. The expression on her face was pure pain to him, reflecting all the more clearly his own ache and the terrible impotence he'd felt as she'd lay dying in that still, cold hospital room years ago. He couldn't help but turn away …

With a yelp and a quick side step Pegasus backed away from the sudden apparition that had materialized beside his desk. A man, it must have been a man. Weren't all scarecrows men? The eyes were lit by some inner source and the carved features had been somehow animated like in a claymation film. The rest of the body, below the pumpkin head, seemed composed of sticks and twigs, clad in grimy overalls smeared with all manner of unidentifiable substances. At any rate, the scarecrow met his gaze, staring with some unreadable expression before spitting on the ground in a very undignified manner and drawling out quite clearly around the cigar firmly clamped between carved teeth, "What'cha lookin' at, buddy?"

"Um, well…" Pegasus glanced behind him at the vision of Cyndia, still looking confused but strangely happy, like a doll programmed to seem provide comfort. "Am I dreaming?"

"Yer a quick one, ain't ya?"

Pegasus stared at the creature for a long moment, studying the jack-o-lantern head and the overalls. It was the sort of creature he'd paint on a card as a joke. He did a quick mental calculation of the attack and defense power before putting the disjointed idea from his head. He really hadn't been sleeping well lately. "So why am I dreaming of a scarecrow?"

The pumpkin-headed creation groaned, shouldering a large mop and lifting a bucket of water with literally gnarled hands. "Now yer gonna ask questions, huh? Just wait around, ya damned sleeper. You'll wake up and go about yer business when the time's right. Now go screw yer girlfriend and leave me outta it."

When the creature turned to leave, slamming the bedroom door on the way, Pegasus was left completely dumbfounded. It was indeed one of the strangest dreams he'd ever experienced. Usually, a dream like this was followed by riotous sex and, when the awoke, a cold shower. Since he'd set his plan to seize Kaiba Corp's advanced holographic technology in motion the dream had grown more frequent, punctuating his urge to return Cyndia no matter the cost. Now, though, his arousal was stifled -- although he knew that his lover was waiting for him, he couldn't participate in the charade any longer. He knew she wasn't really Cyndia, and that knowledge combined with a scarecrow that could barge in at any time radically stilted his libido.

But then her soft arms encircled him and he couldn't help but ease against her, the soft press of her breasts against his body more comforting than any sensation he could think of. She kissed his lips, flashing a playful grin before nuzzling his throat, kissing and nibbling. Pegasus sighed, pulling her close and burying his hands in her thick hair. It was so easy to forget that she wasn't real, to imagine that she'd never died and that he'd been dreaming for the past seven long years. As her hands slid across his chest, Pegasus groaned her name, pulling her closer, desperate to get a near as possible, to never let her go. He massaged her neck absently, working at the muscles he knew his darling one tended to strain … then he stopped. Something was wrong. Something didn't feel right.

He pulled away, holding his lover at arms length as he struggled to focus beyond his painful arousal. She was in a similar state, her breasts heaving as she gasped for breath, her face flushed with passion. But it wasn't Cyndia, he latched onto that idea and held it tight. Cyndia had a mole on the back of her neck, barely perceivable but there nonetheless. He stared at the double with the utmost scrutiny, putting aside his desire as he sought to understand what was happening, and the closer he stared the more flaws he discovered. The double's breasts were twice the size of Cyndia's, her waist too thin, her shoulders too bony by comparison. Cyndia had not been a large woman, but neither had she been the buxom waif that stood before Pegasus. He growled, snatching the woman by her long blonde hair "You're not her!"

As the woman stared up at him in fear it was as though a veil had been lifted from his vision, and Pegasus saw even more clearly that the woman he held was not his lover. A heart-shaped instead of an oval face, dirty blonde hair, gnawed fingernails… definitely not Cyndia. The more he looked, the more flaws he saw. "Its been you every night, never the real Cyndia. Why do you pose as her? Why can't you just leave me alone and let me dream of fields or sky or anything but her?"

The false Cyndia stared, so wide-eyed and terrified that for a moment Pegasus feared the worst, that he'd made a mistake, that had the true Cynndia really appeared before him he'd fail to recognize her after so many years. He loosened his grip, but the girl was fading, melting in his hands into mist and shadow. He felt suddenly sick, like someone had slammed on the brakes in his brain as a strange dizziness creept into his vision, dimming his sight. He held the woman in an ever loosening grip before she slipped away and darkness began to descend. He was waking, but not by normal means as though an alarm had sounded or his body had grown uncomfortable. There was something incredibly powerful shoving at him with an invisible force. Pegasus grit his teeth and drew upon the power of the Millennium Eye to hold his position. He'd never felt anything like the power that pressed against him, wedging itself in his mind and spurring him to wake, to open his eyes and reenter reality. Something was forcing him awake and there was nothing he could do to stop the sudden expulsion.

When he next opened his eye he was laying in bed, covered in sweat and trapped amidst a tangle of sheets. It was seven o'clock in the morning and the sun was just beginning to rise over the second day of the Duelist Kingdom tournament.


	3. Chapter Two: Fragile Visions

_Chapter Two: Fragile Visions_

Despite the trappings of the duelists and his interest in young Yugi Moto, Pegasus spent most of the second day of his tournament pouring over ancient texts acquired over the years from around the globe. His dreams had been getting worse, and though he'd never felt the strange power before which had forced him into wakefulness, he'd been getting less rest and his exhaustion had effected his judgment of the tournament. He'd procured the tomes in the hope of discovering some means of reviving Cyndia or unlocking the mystery of his own Millennium Item, but now he began to search through the records concerning dreams and dream states. Something profound had occurred last night, he was sure of it, but he kept the details of his encounter to himself, ordering his men about with as much coolness as he could muster.

Regardless the staff noticed that something was definitely amiss. Instead of the usual wine and comics as his silent companions through the day, the elegant dining table was piled high with books in all shapes, sizes, and states of preservation. Mythology, ancient religions, legends, reports of drug-induced dreams or hallucinations – all had become a part of Pegasus' newly inspired research. He sipped the occasional glass of wine, and but it was four in the afternoon and he'd barely used half the bottle. He isolated himself as usual in the dining hall, his massive collection strewn along the length of the elegant table. Some thought he was recovering from the alcoholism that had plagued their master for years, while others saw little more than a new obsession. The guards in particular were dissatisfied with the current change in approach – there hadn't been any action all day, and even though Seto Kaiba could storm onto the island at any moment to claim his captive brother, Pegasus just didn't seem to notice.

Every so often he did a Mind Sweep over the island, assuring himself that all was in order before he continued with his work. He was amazed to find so much in such a short amount of time. The few ancient scholars who had bothered to dabble in the occult had left a vast amount of knowledge concerning a mysterious figure associated with the dream world. The being had many names, but all agreed that he was the ruler of dreams, a sort of Dream King, who was of a pantheon older than gods or men. Could that peculiar figure with the pumpkin head have been the King of Dreams himself? That would explain the wackiness of some of his better fantasies, and the strange horror of nightmares. Further research had revealed more about the pantheon and the King of Dreams, but in no record did Pegasus find reference to a living scarecrow with the head of a hollow pumpkin. His research, though, had not been in vain. He nearly choked on his wine when he read the final bit of information that would turn the course of his actions.

"Master Pegasus, are you alright?" Croquet took the glass from his hand, patting him solidly on the back several times.

"I'm fine, Croquet, thank you." Pegasus winced. "You can stop beating me now! I'm quite alright!"

"Yes, sir." A ghost of a smile flickered beneath the bodyguard's moustache as his employer rubbed the bruised shoulder blade. "It would be ironic, wouldn't it, to die by your own alcohol intake?"

"If you came here to lecture me, you're dismissed."

Croquet nodded, "Reports indicate that Yugi Moto will reach the castle within two days at his current pace. Already he has defeated the regional champion, Weevil Underwood, and has progressed to –"

"Well way to go, Yugi-boy! I had no doubt he'd target Underwood first after the Exodia incident. His ruthless streak has at last reared its ugly head." Pegasus snickered, leaning back from his studies to sip gently from his wine glass. "Why don't you go supervise and keep me updated?"

"May I ask why you don't want to supervise personally, Master Pegasus?"

"I'm busy. You take care of it. I give you full authority, just don't bother me for the rest of the evening."

Croquet paused a beat before nodding with a bow. "As you wish, Master Pegasus."

"Oh, Croquet?"

The bodyguard paused in the doorway, his moustache twitching slightly. He already disapproved of the tournament itself but for Master Pegasus to insist on ignoring the festivities after all he had riding on the outcome was more than peculiar. Croquet was beginning to wonder if his employer might benefit from a psychiatrist. "Yes sir?"

"I'll require another bottle of the Vintage Port in an hour. The '77, if you don't mind this time. If you bring up another bad year, I'll lock you in the dungeon." The threat was palpable, but Croquet couldn't help but notice the lack of emotion behind it. All of Pegasus' energies were devoted to his dusty books. "Who'd have ever thought I'd be using the Crowley folios again…"

"Pardon, sir?"

"Nothing, Croquet, go about your business. Some of these require much translation and care. I can't be bothered with the tournament. Make sure that young Mokuba is secured, the elder Kaiba contained, and Yugi Moto procured – am I clear?"

"Perfectly, Master Pegasus."

"Get on it, then."

"Right away, sir."

Once the massive door thumped shut, Pegasus sighed, rubbing his eye wearily. There was so much to do yet, and with this latest option arising at a most inopportune time the isolated billionaire couldn't help but divide his attentions. He wanted to watch little Yugi duel, he really did, but what he'd discovered in the hour of casual research he'd spent that morning had propelled him into near-obsession. The text spoke of seven forces anthropomorphized in myth and legend which held sway over every major moment in humanity. There were visual descriptions of the god-like beings that rang true in every culture the author had examined, the universe contained in the eyes of the King of Dreams for example. Pegasus couldn't judge the accuracy of the legends, but being the chosen holder of a three thousand year old Egyptian artifact with mystical powers to tap into a hidden plane of existence tended to make a man more open-minded. He quelled the cynicism that he'd cultivated since Cyndia's death, trying to let the innocence and imagination of his youth blossom once more in his heart. He was struggling, but at least he'd not wavered in his convictions as of yet; though he seemed to be getting far deeper than he'd initially intended. He'd gone from researching a pumpkin-headed figure unfamiliar in his dreams to the concept of dreaming itself and the possibility of a single conscious force behind it all.

The first truly intriguing information he'd found came roughly three hours into his studies. He'd been in the library, selecting more texts for his research when a few pages fell from an ancient Islamic discourse. With a curse Pegasus lowered himself from the ladder with care, struggling with the Greek and Sanskrit texts balanced in his arms. With a grunt he'd lowered the books onto a nearby cherry wood desk and knelt to gather the pages. The papers had fallen neatly enough as though still bound, and in his haste to recollect them he'd nearly overlooked the contents of the book itself. A glance over the graceful Arabic lettering had given him pause. There were paintings done in gold leaf, beautiful renderings of legendary encounters long lost or overlooked by intrepid scholars, depicting a sleeping dreamer and his rising soul.

Pegasus had kept the book open at his side the rest of the day, the pages opened to the painting in the quarto so carefully rendered. Something about the figure, the dreamer's face peaceful as his physical body entered the realm of Sleepers ringing true, and combined with this latest testimonial research Pegasus could not deny the odd coincidence. There had always been legends of the state of dreaming being a window into a greater truth hidden beneath the bustling daily life of mankind, and for the most part the stories were considered myth. Only recently had parapsychologists begun to concur that astral projection might be possible in certain gifted individuals, though their test results often were dismissed as far-fetched despite years of carefully controlled research. As a child, he'd been recognized as one of these few gifted individuals, and his parents had indulged their curiosity by allowing their child to be subjected to a variety of tests. His psychic prowess had been confirmed, and though Pegasus had ceased the experimentation after the passing of his parents, he still maintained contact with certain of the professors who had been kind to him.

He'd reached for his cell phone before he could stop himself, and had already dialed the number before an obvious snag became clear. The people he was attempting to contact, though accustomed to accepting a variety of paranormal activity as within the realm of science, were still rooted in a concrete solidarity. Facts were critical, and Pegasus had nothing definite to tell. He'd had a dream of his beloved Cyndia, but that was nothing new. He always dreamed of her in pain of happy, begging for his company or simply reliving their brief time together as children. The men he'd trusted as children would approach him as an adult and apply a psychological explanation before attributing the supernatural.

"Hello this is Dr. Morgan's office, how may I help you?"

Pegasus blinked. Had he dialed the number? Stammering as hasty apology he snapped the phone shut, "Jesus, I must be more tired then I thought…"

He tried to focus on the mysterious realm of dreams, but him mind, ever imaginative and stretching beyond the given evidence, had already found a new focus. If there were a master of Dreams, then surely there was a master of Death… and if an entity lorded over the realm of the dead, decided who and how people succumbed to that final horror, he must be terrible indeed. Death itself, the figure responsible for the balance between realms of the living and the dead, could take a human form? Impossible. An idea conceived of pure fantasy, conjuring the image of a Grim Reaper in flowing black robes preying upon the living for sport. But according to all he'd read an anthropomorphic Dream existed, so why not Death as well? It was something Pegasus had never considered, and as he translated the texts further a plan began forming in the back of his mind. A plan that could save him from the evil ends he'd thought unavoidable for his cause that required no snatching of souls or cheating his way through duels.

Perhaps death could be reasoned with? It was silly, but surely it was worth a shot. He was desperate for his love. For seven long years he'd waited, and each day the clock ticked closer to his own end, an end that might or might not lead to a life eternal alongside his beloved. They'd planned to have a life together, and although he would gladly give up the chance of children and old age to see her again, he could not hold faith in traditional Western thought. Pegasus was not a religious man. He'd read the minds of too many as they lay dying, they're thoughts thrown into a panic as the eternal blackness swept over them. It was hard to ignore the plaintive cries of the suffering, the mental anguish of human beings dying in their own filth amidst the rush of city life. No one noticed them, and they're bodies were unheeded for the most part. Being as psychically sensitive as he was, though, Pegasus heard they're pleas.

When he'd first received the Millennium Eye he tried to help everyone who cried out mentally. He gave so much of himself away, thinking that maybe that was his purpose and hoping that it would be a means of filling the empty space in his heart; but he could only help so many. Even he had not the funds to save the world, and as his assets dipped lower and his investors became restless Pegasus had reluctantly pulled out of the philanthropic interest and retreated once again to his paintings … and the fantasy game he'd been designing. When Duel Monsters became a success, Pegasus had built Duelist Kingdom, a sanctuary where he could block out the pain of the world and the minds of others. The island was populated, but not nearly so much as Las Vegas or New York had been. At least off the coast of Japan he could tune out the language and simply ignore the multitude of voices that pleaded for aid, the foreign tongue blending into nonsense.

But if Death was a real entity, a creature of reason, perhaps something could be done. Like a true businessman, Pegasus believed that anybody, or anything for that matter, could be swayed by the proper presentation of his goal. He only regretted that he'd not searched more thoughtfully through his books before, but he had direction now. His new plan was far stranger, but arguably more feasible than stealing Kaiba's holographic technology – and better for Pegasus' conscience too. He no more enjoyed keeping young Mokuba locked in a cell than the boy himself appreciated being there. Besides, he had to explore every avenue in his pursuit of Cyndia. She was counting on him, and if there was even the slimmest of hopes he had to make the attempt. Perhaps a reunion with Cyndia was not so far off after all, if he could just figure out how to get started.


End file.
